I have written, in the course of
my life, more poems declaring my death than I can count- and I thought it would
be a thousand other ways- but if there’s something for which I did not get
ready, that is a eulogy for myself.
Funny right? Last thing I would
think of writing about. But here am I. In some way, I feel like Bras Cubas, from
Machado de Assis’ novel, that wrote ‘to the worm who first gnawed on the cold
flesh of my corpse, I dedicate with fond remembrance these Posthumous Memoirs’.
I died having a delirium. Can you
believe it? Is there any more stupid way to leave? I don’t actually know. What
I do know, though, is that I did not see it coming. I mean, as I told you, I
always wondered about how I would die, and I kept fantasizing about that very
last moment; would I die in my sleep? Would it be in an accident? What kind?
Car, airplane, train? Would I be killed? Would I kill myself? I don’t know. I
guess, after years desiring for a remarkable death, a final event to eternalize
myself in history, the Universe made a fun prank: I’m doomed to be in this
after life remembering of everything, except this last moment.
Don’t get me wrong, please. It’s
not like I had a miserable life and wanted to be relieved from all the
suffering in it- no, I had, such as pretty much everyone around here, a normal meaningless life. For sure, I had
moments of sadness, but after, moments of happiness. I tried to change things,
and they didn’t. Some others did. I had many lovers through the years and also
many heartbreaks. I had the gift of art, but I never wrote something that I
thought was worth showing to someone. I was a socialist that never saw equality,
I lived an average life without knowing what to do. Now, I don’t know why those
moments happened the way they did, whatever happened.
I remember that I was in my room,
it was Saturday, and I started seeing things. Nothing very exciting, to be
honest, but I’ll tell you anyhow. I saw a woman, beside my bed. She was holding
a book or something similar, looking at my pillow like there was someone else
there. Her lips moved, but didn’t reproduce any sound, and it seemed like she
was trying to turn one of the last pages. I went there to help her with it,
and, when I tried to reach her, boom. End. After that, I wonder what happened.
I mean, that doesn’t make any
sense at all. First because I lived alone, and therefore I was all alone in the
house. Second because I had really good audition, even though I was epileptic, I
had to take medicine for anxiety, and some other disfunctions and therefore I
would listen if there was sound. Third and last, because it had been years
since I had illusions, and nothing changed in the last month, week or anything
that could cause that. It was simply… weird. That’s why I ask again, why? Why
in that moment, why that way?
Perhaps it was a punishment. After
so many years playing with such tragic ideas, having pessimism as a personal
philosophy, playing god in literature, I would die in the most stupid way.
Maybe not. If I really push myself to think about it, there are worst ways to leave.
I could have slipped in a banana or been runned over by a bunch of clown cars.
Maybe it was only a consequence.
It’s not like I was very aware when making decisions- I was always going from
bar to bar, having whiskey as my best friend; I used all drugs you can imagine
for no specific reason- once, I took lsd to went to work, simply because I
wanted to see the colors in the clothes we sold in a brighter way. Perhaps
after putting so many substances in my body, it broke.
Anyhow, it’s still funny to me.
Funny how I spent so much time thinking about how I would die, and how nothing
that’s passing through my head helps me remember that god damn moment. [touches
head with anger]. Ouch. Wait a moment… there is something missing there. Why
does my head hurt? Shit! I know! I remember what happened! Ok, that just got
dumber, but that happens.
So, I was in my room, and I saw that woman, and I reached
her. When I did, there was some sort of light going into my room, and it flicked
a couple times… the friction somehow made me have a convulsion, then I fell on
the floor and my head hit the corner of my bed. Dammit, that’s so… random. I
guess… If I had no specific reason to come to earth, there’s no reason for
leaving it. There isn’t anyone out there to answer my question, nor comfort my
soul. And that’s fine.